


Licence my roving hands

by concernedlily



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Edging, M/M, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concernedlily/pseuds/concernedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of Eggsy's recruitment tasks is to protect some information from a vile seducer. No problem.</p><p>Well, unless they send Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Licence my roving hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DivineProjectZero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/gifts).



> Previously posted in slightly different form [on tumblr](http://concernedlily.tumblr.com/post/136697135851/listentotheshityousay-mazarin221b) for the lovely DivineProjectZero/listentotheshityousay on the occasion of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
> 
> Based on a prompt by solarrift: 
> 
>  
> 
> _I really like fics where Eggsy and other candidates have to pass the obligational “honeypot/ seduce your mentor/ NLP training trial”._
> 
>  
> 
> _HOWEVER, i really want to see a fic where the “honeypot/ nlp” trial that Eggsy is tasked with is switched up a bit._
> 
>  
> 
> _What do i mean by this, you ask? Well, basically, instead of Eggsy having to seduce someone to get information, he would instead have to keep his mouth shut when Galahad, a seasoned agent, is to (attempt to) get some important piece of intel from and by way of seducing Eggsy._

"There's gonna be a shagging task," Eggsy says confidently. "I've seen so much James Bond. He is shagging always."

"I think that's recreational," Roxy says from the other end of the bed. She's a bit pink round the cheeks, reaching over the dogs curled in between them to give Eggsy's shins a halfhearted shove. "I don't think they'd give us a _honeypot mission_ , Eggsy. God."

"You're fucked if they do, Unwin," Charlie yells from across the room. "Has anyone actually ever got in your knickers, or have they all been too afraid of your flame-retardant trackie to try?"

"I am a fucking sex god," Eggsy shouts back. "A god. They queue up, mate. Any shagging mission is no problem for me at all."

***

"New task," Merlin says. He passes each of them round a sheet of paper.

It holds co-ordinates - somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, if Eggsy knows anything, but that seems pointless so he'll have to check. 

He squints at Merlin, cuts a glance at Roxy, who’s turning her bit of paper over like she's expecting something more to be written on the back, stares at his paper, at Merlin again. 

"What are we supposed to do with this?" Charlie says. 

Merlin gives them one of those broad, warm grins that means they're in the deep shit. "Memorise it," he says. "Protect it."

"Protect it from what?" Eggsy says suspiciously. 

"A Kingsman agent knows how to keep it zipped," Merlin says and gives them a wink that manages to be scarily laden with more lascivious innuendo than a Lily Savage stand-up routine. "Good luck, boys and girls."

"This is your fault," Charlie says, when he's gone. "You and your bloody boasting about being a sex god. Six months in here with you bastards, I'd tell the Bride of Frankenstein anything she wanted to know if it meant getting some pussy."

"You just have to control yourself," Roxy says witheringly. "Oh, what am I saying. I don't care if you fuck it up because you're a sexist pig."

"Yeah," Eggsy says, secure in the knowledge that there's no fucking way they know what really revs his engine: whatever bit of fluff they throw at him is going to be a piece of cake. "Just got to control yourself. Think of England, innit."

***

 

Harry turns up at the pub that Friday and Eggsy gives him a big smile, the biggest, when he sees him. 

Now they're down to three candidates they're encouraged to fraternise with the Kingsman staff. Eggsy thinks at least half of them are turning in formal reports about it so he never lets himself get too loose but it's nice to get to know the people who’ll have his life in their hands if he nabs Lancelot. 

As far as he can tell Harry is supposed to blend in, not be acknowledged as one of the agents and definitely not by Eggsy as his proposer, but Eggsy can never stop a bit of happiness at seeing him, all upright and walking round and everything.

Harry never really blends in anyway. All of the Kingsman staff dress nice, it’s not just the knights who get the bespoke suits. Nobody wears it like Harry does though, nobody else carries themselves with that louche dangerous stride and tops it with the sly smile, the stuff that makes Eggsy's palms sweaty and his head spin and has him turning over and rubbing his aching dick against the sheets, quiet as he can, when they go back to bed in the dorms.

Harry favours him with a sharp grin when he first comes in, but that's it for a while: Eggsy is deep in conversation with Beth, one of Merlin's lot, about the next generation supersonic engine they're working on in the engineering department. 

It's genuinely interesting, but he finds there's a little part of him keeping track of her smiles and laughs, the way she wraps her lips round her straw, the tiny hint of cleavage under her silk shirt when she leans forward to make a point. Trying to figure out if this is it, this is the seduction, on his guard for it.

He's just about decided on no when Elodie from logistics drops down next to Beth. Beth turns into her with a bright smile and they have a quick hello smooch. 

So it's probably not Beth then. He's glad he didn't try to escalate anything himself: last thing he needs is word getting round he's a sleaze to be avoided round the pub. 

He's briefly occupied with trying to worm something out of Elodie about what the old Lancelot was doing when he pegged it, which she dodges more or less pleasantly, when Harry sets a small tray on the table and drops down on the bench seat next to him. 

He sits awful close and Eggsy shifts in next to him automatically before he catches himself and tries to shuffle down. There's not really space for both of them but it makes sense Harry would prefer to sit next to Eggsy, facing out into the room, rather than pull up a stool and turn his back.

The three of them shut up about Dead Lancelot immediately. So much for Harry's ability to pass as normal staff.

“Good evening,” Harry says and smiles impersonally round the table.

“Hi Harry,” Beth says, twinkling at him, and helps herself and Elodie to the two G&Ts on the tray. Harry nudges it to Eggsy and Eggsy grabs the pint of lager with a quick thanks, leaving the Guinness for Harry.

Harry's the consummate small talker, like a minor royal at a garden party, all _and do you enjoy thats_ and _do tell me more_ so Eggsy sits back and sips his lager and lets the conversation wash over him, contributing occasionally but mainly just enjoying Harry's warmth pressed up against his side.

And then the warmth of Harry's hand on his thigh, just a tiny bit too high for any illusion of propriety at all.

Eggsy almost sits bolt upright, realises that might make Harry _move_ and settles back again. He even dares to knock his knee into Harry's, in case Harry has somehow missed how near he is. He sneaks a glance and Harry gives him a bland look back, gives so little acknowledgement or sign of what's happening under the table that Eggsy has the stupid thought that maybe it's not Harry at all, maybe… someone's brought a dog into the pub and it’s come to say hello? 

He puts his hands in his lap, casual, so slow and casual it hurts. He brushes Harry's arm as he does it, can't avoid it, and then his fingers are glancing over Harry's. It's definitely him, Eggsy can feel the signet ring and the broad palms and thick fingers he's thought so much about. Harry's fingers twitch and touch his and Harry moves his hand, further up and curving into Eggsy's inner thigh, deliberate, unmistakably a come-on. 

Eggsy slouches down and spreads his legs invitingly. He relaxes his hand round his pint glass and takes a long swallow, focusing on the frothy slightly bitter taste rather than on the hand rubbing gently at his thigh now, high, so high Harry is almost -

 _There_ , the side of his hand brushing Eggsy's dick, fat and getting hard fast in his baggy jeans. Eggsy bites his lip on the moan that wants to come out and takes another drink. He lets his eyes go downcast, fighting to keep them open when he just wants to fall into the unexpected greedy sensation of Harry's hand on him.

Eggsy makes an effort and tries to join in but by the time he gets his observation out he’s a couple of beats too late, the conversation moved on. Beth gives him a weird look, then flicks her eyes over his two empty pint glasses and gives him a sympathetic little smile. 

So that's great, but Eggsy supposes a rep for being a complete lightweight is better than one for being a total perv getting a handjob under the table from a Kingsman agent more than twice his age, and it's very definitely a handjob now. His cock is hard and demanding and Harry is rubbing him, his clever hand completely over Eggsy's groin and massaging, any plausible deniability completely shot.

He really wants to move, wants to hump his hips up and get the hard rhythm he needs, but it would be so obvious. He wriggles as subtly as he can, trying to move into the pressure of Harry's fingers. The fabric of his boxers feels slippy and damp over his cock, so sensitive he swears he can feel the roughness of the denim through it, heat settling and pooling in his groin and reverbing arousal through his body, from his sweating forehead to his curling toes.

He stares at Harry's profile, also so bloody obvious but he wants to know - is hoping Harry's affected too, even a little bit. It's hard to tell but he thinks there's an unusual touch of colour on his cheeks, a low rasp to his voice as he chats to Beth and Elodie. 

Harry must sense the attention, turns and smiles at him, a little intimate knowing smile that makes Eggsy's mind flake and fizz. He laughs unsteadily as everyone else does, a moment too late, no idea what's so funny. Harry finds the head of his cock where it's trying to escape from under his waistband and _squeezes_ and Eggsy jerks forward and knocks his drink over.

It's only about half full, and he rights it before too much has spilled, reflexes sharp even as he's all over the shop, but the drip of cold lager into his lap is enough to dampen his _enthusiasm_. Beth and Elodie jump up with shared looks of fear for their tailoring and Harry removes his hand from Eggsy’s lap and gives him a vague smile. 

“Sorry,” Eggsy says. “Shit. Sorry.” He looks around for something to clean up with, his brain slow to come back to earth, and Harry takes his hoodie off him as he picks it up with half an idea of using it to mop up.

“Not with your own clothes, Eggsy,” Harry says reprovingly. “Someone will be along with a cloth, I'm sure. Come along, let’s see about getting you sorted out.”

Fucking _unbelievable_. He snaps his head up to look at Harry. Harry has an evil, unblinking look in his eyes, a challenge and a promise. 

Eggsy gurgles something and gets up, follows Harry off with barely a goodbye, back in possession of the hoodie and holding it in front of him for camouflage.

The bogs are hidden away down a little back corridor. Harry leads him straight into the disabled bog and locks the door behind them.

Eggsy turns and says, “Harry -”

And Harry is on him, walking him steadily until Eggsy's back hits the wall and his front hits Harry’s front and Eggsy tips his head back and says it again, breathes it, “ _Harry_.”

“Don't you want to clean up?” Harry says, so close the words stir Eggsy's mouth with his warm breath, and Eggsy lets the wall hold him up and sighs as Harry skates over his jeans again, delves into them.

His eyes must have slid closed because he's seeing stars against black space as Harry gets his fingers around Eggsy's dick, brilliant sparks in Eggsy's vision from his cock or in his cock from his vision, he's not sure, can't think about anything but the pleasure of Harry's hand, _Harry’s_ hand, Harry touching him the way Eggsy always just assumed would stay a cherished fantasy.

He raises his head, chasing Harry's mouth, wanting to be kissed almost as much as he wants the wank. He whines when Harry plays with him, makes him work for it, retreating and then ducking back in. Harry kisses his throat instead, leaving a line of what feels like tender pink marks. 

Eggsy chokes back a moan and grabs Harry's head, sinks his fingers into Harry's hair and tries to bring Harry's mouth to his, totally gone: he feels raw, exposed by his own desire, like he'd give Harry anything, do anything Harry wanted.

Harry evades him, amused, does a full body shimmy up against Eggsy that makes Eggsy shudder and his whole body go blissfully limp. Harry catches his hands in his and Eggsy tests Harry's grip, relaxing as Harry draws his hands up over his head and pins them there with one big hand splayed over Eggsy's wrists. Nothing he couldn't get out of easy but he doesn't want to, likes the feeling of Harry holding him safe in place.

“Okay?” Harry murmurs and Eggsy nods, burying his face in Harry's throat, needing to hide from Harry even as his body goes soft at being held. 

Harry strokes his hair, his fingers shaking against Eggsy's head, and runs his hand down Eggsy's back, fast but unerringly steady. He gropes and feels up Eggsy's arse for a moment while Eggsy rubs up against him with the internal justification he's making room, and then his hand is back in Eggsy's jeans, bloody wonderfully, button and zip undone one-handed and boxers pushed down not very comfortably under his balls. 

Eggsy can feel Harry's cock, caught big and stiff in his lovely neat trousers, and he wants in a way he's never wanted another human being before, not Mel Walker when he was fifteen and getting his dick wet the first time or Dave Tannoh the first time he'd rolled over for a bloke to fuck his arse. 

Harry is different, better, lust and admiration and gratitude all rolled up and sunk into the bones of him so Eggsy feels like he can't remember when he didn't want Harry, didn't think about him. He leans his head back against the wall and licks his lips, trying to look debauched and tempting. “Gizza kiss, then,” he says, too turned on to be anything but plain about it.

Harry sets his lips at Eggsy's cheekbone and Eggsy closes his eyes again. Harry smells of the Guinness he was drinking, his lips are thin and smooth. Eggsy nuzzles up against him as best he can and the hint of Harry's beard rasps on his cheek, a nice little sensation that drags Eggsy straight back into his body, into the feelings Harry's driving through him from the capable hand on Eggsy's cock. 

“Like this?” Harry says, his lips moving soft against Eggsy's face. 

“No,” Eggsy says, hearing the petulant need in his voice and trying to get a lid on it, God, last thing he wants is Harry thinking Eggsy's an annoying kid. “Properly, give me a real kiss, Harry, come on…” He flickers his eyes open and tries to think through the desperation clouding his brain, tries to use the skills he's supposed to be learning about reading people and getting situations to go his way, like Harry would probably want. 

Harry's face is keen, nearly stern, he's watching Eggsy tightly with lust-blown chocolate-pool eyes. Eggsy wets his lips again and tries, “Please.”

Harry groans and closes his eyes, his grip tightening on Eggsy's wrists and cock both in a way that makes the need to come spike through him. 

He throws his head back, clunking on the wall, and then Harry's mouth is on his, kissing him messy and confident, like they've kissed a thousand times in Harry's imagination same as they have in Eggsy's. 

He makes a slow happy sound into Harry's mouth and Harry gets the hand that was on Eggsy's cock into Eggsy's hair and shoves his thigh between Eggsy's spread legs for him to ride instead.

They kiss for ages, Harry pressing him to the wall like he's afraid Eggsy is going to try to get away, which, no danger; like Harry has forgotten himself and just wants to spend the rest of time here, locked in these powerful sweet kisses. Eggsy feels like he's being learned, like he's being _understood_ , which is a stupid thing to think about a bunk-up in a pub bog, but Harry is caressing his sensitive inner forearms with his thumbs while he holds Eggsy's hands over his head, his tongue is playing gently in Eggsy's mouth, and Eggsy just feels totally taken care of.

He needs to come so badly but he doesn't want Harry to think he just takes and takes and isn't a proper gentleman in the scratcher. 

“What do you want?” Eggsy says, thinking dizzily of getting on his knees and getting Harry’s sure-to-be spectacular cock in his mouth, or, even better, in his arse, although this is a public bog and he doesn’t much fancy the post-screw waddle of shame through a pub full of his bloody would-be colleagues. Maybe give that a miss for now, then. There’s still his hand - or if Harry’s got anything slick he could bend Eggsy over and fuck up between his thighs, snug up against his balls and sliding over his hole, that would feel good, the closest he could get to having Harry inside. 

So many lovely possibilities that it genuinely takes a good few seconds to register when Harry laughs softly against his mouth. He pulls back a little bit, enough for Eggsy to see he looks rocked, almost as hazy with it as Eggsy feels, and then Harry clears his throat and says, “What do you think I want, my dear boy? Those co-ordinates, of course.”

“What?” Eggsy says. Blankly, and his mouth hangs slack and open, and he goes stiff, hot and cold running through him. Not like the happy shag-drunk feverishness of before. Horrible and terrible and shocked.

Harry must feel it. He lets Eggsy go gingerly and backs away a couple of steps, peering at Eggsy’s face. He looks concerned, but the wary way he's holding himself is almost like when he’s on the sparring mats and about to take out an unsuspecting trainee.

He says, “Eggsy…” and Eggsy says wildly, “The fucking co-ordinates?”

Someone bangs on the door and Eggsy jumps, over-nervy. “Fuck off!” Harry shouts, viciously, probably the most Eggsy has ever heard him raise his voice but he looks stricken as he moves cautiously closer to Eggsy. 

Eggsy resists the urge to scramble away, hide himself. He’ll never get through Harry and away but he can square up and he does, fumbling to pull his boxers up and do his jeans over his wilting cock. Harry falls back again, raising his hands, looking urgent and sorry, but that cool languid way he moves is against him; he looks like he’s hunting even when he’s trying to be kind.

“So this is just part of the competition,” Eggsy spits out. He feels - fuck, broken with it, he's so fucking stupid, thinking the way Harry was kissing him and touching him actually _meant_ anything. Eggsy feels totally bare in front of him, even though they didn’t get hardly any kit off. “Kissing me like that - just ‘cause Merlin fucking _sent you_ -”

“Eggsy, it’s not like that,” Harry says with quiet intensity. “Come on, let me explain.”

“Oh yeah, go on then,” Eggsy says. His head is whirling with anger and - shame. He’s been so sure, nobody knew the way he felt about Harry, definitely not Harry himself, congratulating himself on how fucking well he was doing hiding what he wanted. The idea that they knew enough to send Harry - him going with Harry so eagerly just now, in front of everyone -

“I wasn’t sent anywhere,” Harry says. His arms are still open, his hands hanging there, as if he’s forgotten himself, which Harry never does, everything he does is controlled. “I offered. It’s perfectly normal for agents to play this role for their recruits.”

“This _ain’t_ normal,” Eggsy says with conviction, his heart pounding. Eggsy notices, absurdly, that Harry’s usual regimentedly neat hair is falling in finger-rushed curls over his forehead. It makes him look more touchable, more real; it’s like evidence, _Eggsy woz ere_. Eggsy’s chest feels tight even as his idiot cock twitches with interest. “It ain’t normal to make people think - fuck this, Harry. Get out my way.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sounds genuine. Even not knowing Harry as well as Eggsy thought he’d like to get to, he knows well enough how rare that is, for Harry to outright admit regret. “Eggsy. I didn’t think you’d... mind.”

“You didn’t think I’d fucking _mind_?” Eggsy says. “Don’t fucking mess with me, Harry.” He curses that he can feel his cheeks going red, but there’s a little ray of hope. Maybe everyone doesn’t know; maybe it’s not as bad as he thought.

“No,” Harry says absently. He’s studying Eggsy far too closely, the considering look he’d given Eggsy when he walked into the shop and said _I ain’t never met a tailor before but I know you ain’t one_ , and whatever he sees makes him take a step closer. “I really didn’t think you’d mind, Eggsy.” He looks like he's nerving himself up for a big finish when he says, “And I minded the idea of one of the staff volunteering for the task. I minded that deeply.”

“Why?” Eggsy says unsteadily. He’s already leaning into Harry, fuck his life: he wants so badly for Harry to have a good explanation, for Harry to make it better; for Harry to be the good bloke Eggsy thinks he is, the good bloke Eggsy wants to make of himself. For Harry not to be the kind of bastard who can kiss a man like he's the whole world when he doesn't even really want him.

Harry takes a deep breath. Eggsy can see it move his chest, under the shirt rumpled where they were pressed so tight together. “Because if anyone was going to take you to bed, for the co-ordinates or otherwise, I wanted very badly for it to be me.”

“Harry,” Eggsy says, his voice coming out smaller than he’d like, threaded with disbelief and treacherous hope, and Harry gives him a small, pained smile.

“Until you responded so quickly outside, I hadn’t considered that it might be reciprocated. And - well,” Harry’s mouth twists into something sheepish that it takes Eggsy a moment to even recognise as a smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me for having thought it would be nice to have my hands on you, just once.”

Eggsy searches Harry’s anxious face and Harry lets him; he realises he’s taken a tiny step forward and Harry stays where he is, just looks down at him and waits for him to decide what to do. 

“Really,” Eggsy says. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry says. “This evening was - planned, yes. But not faked.”

He makes a rueful face then and Eggsy laughs and Harry smiles, startled, and Eggsy can see truth, suddenly: the instincts that’ve got Eggsy into and out of more fights than he cares to remember tell him he can trust. He's always felt that, Harry’s a spy and a professional liar but - from the first day, Eggsy just trusted him. He trusts him now.

“Okay,” Eggsy says. Relief and certainty floods him when he says it, when he gives Harry a little smile, when he lets the smile turn inviting. 

The cut-strings way Harry relaxes reassures him more than anything else that the line he spun is straight up. “But it’s done now, yeah?” Eggsy checks. Harry looks shifty and Eggsy feels reckless and _desired_ enough to add, “You wouldn’t’ve got it out of me, anyway. But hows about you take me home and you can get your hands on me twice. Three times, maybe. If you’re up to it.”

He turns to leave the bathroom and feels Harry’s arms go round his waist, pulling him back. Harry grinds that very big, very hard, very nice dick against him and Eggsy gasps and goes weak at the knees, literally, slumps back into Harry’s body and rubs his arse helplessly back into Harry’s groin, his own cock firing achingly back into life.

“I don’t think so,” Harry says severely. “And not just for that intolerable cheek.” He slides his hand down and covers Eggsy’s cock again, groping with casual, tricky confidence, and Eggsy bites down on his tongue just in time to stop a wail coming out. “I don’t intend to have to go back to Merlin and explain I put up a sub-par effort. I do have a reputation to maintain.”

He licks up Eggsy’s throat and nuzzles under his ear and Eggsy shudders and whines. “And,” Harry says in his ear, his voice low with fierce satisfaction, “when you become Lancelot, I’m not having anyone say it was because you did any less than the rest of them.”

“Harry,” Eggsy says weakly. He paws at Harry's hand over his groin but his body is flaring back into hot excitement and his cock is reminding him loudly that it was really looking forward to coming just a few minutes ago and it wouldn't mind getting back to that. And the idea of it - that Harry’s trying to get Eggsy to lose now because he wants Eggsy to _win_ -

It’s a lot to take in. He still feels a bit shy. A bit bruised, not quite ready to give it all up to Harry again just yet. 

He pulls forward and Harry lets him go immediately. He turns and he's going to drop straight to his knees but his gaze is caught by Harry's reddened lips and he sways back in for a tender kiss, Harry being careful with him, putting his arms around Eggsy and licking his lower lip before kissing him more deeply. There's something forgiving in it, something dear and desperate and definitely, positively real, and Eggsy lets himself lean into Harry again and be taken in slow compelling waves.

He starts to sink to his knees, mouth already watering. Harry arrests the movement, says, “Eggsy…”

Eggsy tilts close for another lingering kiss and when they're finished Harry looks into his eyes and touches his lower lip. Eggsy nips at the pad of his thumb and says, “I want to.”

The tile is cool under his knees: they'll start to ache pretty quick but he likes it, the dirty reminder of what he's doing, having the reminder the next day. His skin feels prickly with anticipation as he opens Harry's trousers and brings him out. Harry's dick is as elegant and polite as the rest of him, wet head nudging out and flaring to a thick, slightly curved shaft, heavy balls hanging behind.

He looks up the straight anticipating line of Harry's body and opens his mouth deliberately. 

“God, Eggsy,” Harry says and he cradles Eggsy's head between his hands and smoothes his cock inside, sliding slow over Eggsy's tongue, not quite going so deep as his throat. Eggsy flutters his eyes closed so he can focus on the taste and feeling of it, sourish pre-come and the musky rich smell. He wants to remember this.

“Jesus Christ, Eggsy,” Harry says. He's thrusting gently but insistently, guiding Eggsy's head where he needs it. His voice has slackened, the usual crispness rolling and sweet. “God, you look good sucking my cock. As good as I thought you would. A little harder… lovely. And - just use your tongue, just a bit - yes, there… that's wonderful.” He pushes in with rhythmic demand, pulling gently at Eggsy's hair, strokes one hand down to feel his cock against Eggsy's cheek.

Eggsy wriggles with pleasure at hearing the obscenity dripping from Harry's mouth, and reaches slyly to undo his own jeans, groaning with relief when he gets a grip, hearing Harry echo it above him at the vibrations of Eggsy's mouth around his dick. Harry swears like a sailor anyway but under the circumstances - driving Harry to this feels like getting away with something.

“Are you touching yourself?” Harry says and Eggsy garbles out some agreement with his mouth full of cock. Harry hums and combs his fingers through Eggsy's hair again and says, “Don’t. I'm going to be very cross if you make yourself come, Eggsy.”

Eggsy groans and he thinks about shifting so he can have a crafty wank where Harry can’t see, but there's a note of absolute certainty in Harry's voice that just seems to blank any thought of rebellion from his mind. He wants the unspoken promise of what's going to happen with Harry's hands on him instead.

That, and, if Harry's still with it enough to get that complete a sentence out, Eggsy ain't doing his job too good.

He slides his hands up Harry's thighs instead, whining when he gets creased trousers instead of Harry's skin. His knees are starting to complain, his heels digging into his arse and he kneels up and takes hold of Harry's balls instead, caressing them and rolling them, letting spit slide filthy down Harry's cock so they're nice and wet as he sucks and plays his tongue along Harry's length.

He can feel it right through Harry's body when he gets close and he starts moving with more purpose. Harry lets him take over, loosening his hands on Eggsy's head and shoulder and moving his hips with Eggsy's rhythm. “Yes, Eggsy -” dimly heard throaty praise that Eggsy thrills to, “yes, that's good, you're so good - _fuck_ -”

He sucks Harry gently through the aftermath, making his mouth soft and yielding. Harry pats him and breathes raggedly and then pulls Eggsy up and Eggsy leans on him gratefully for exploring kisses that make his head spin. He's violently hard and wanting himself but it seems okay for now, while Harry takes those extravagant kisses from him and strokes up his sides, under his t-shirt.

“I want to take you home,” Harry murmurs with his lips on Eggsy's temple, his arms tight round Eggsy. 

“Okay,” Eggsy says happily. Is he even allowed to stay out for the night instead of going back to the dorms? Fuck it, it's Harry, it's not like he's nipped out for a shag off Tinder.

“I'd like to,” Harry says again. He sighs, a warm gust against Eggsy's cheek, and says, “Will you tell me the co-ordinates?”

“No,” Eggsy says automatically. “Spin on it.”

“Charming,” Harry says with a dry chuckle and then he's got Eggsy against the wall again and his hands dipping back into Eggsy's jeans. “You've got a lovely cock, Eggsy. I didn't tell you before.”

“Thanks, I made it myself,” Eggsy says, nonsensically, because his whole self is straining to Harry's hand on his cock and Harry's arm round his waist, like he's never felt before, like Harry's the answer to a question he didn't even know he'd spent his life asking. 

Harry quirks a smile and he must see something in Eggsy's pleasure-loose face he likes because it abruptly goes soft. He crowds Eggsy against the wall and they're kissing again, really going for it, gorgeous and melting, Harry touching him as beautiful as fireworks going off behind his eyes.

He says, “ _Yes_ , Harry,” trying to get even closer, draping his arms over Harry's broad shoulders and tilting his hips.

He feels like he's flowering, life surging through him, and he clutches Harry and thrusts hard into his fist, hovering gorgeously on the edge of a breaking orgasm, feeling it in his toes and teeth and rolling through his hips and groin. He says, “Harry -”

And Harry _lets him go_. Eggsy jams his hand in his mouth and bites down to stop himself from yelling, or crying. 

“What,” he says pathetically, his cock jerking, wet and disappointed. His balls actually _ache_ and he reaches down to finish himself off.

Harry catches his hand and twines their fingers together, hauling Eggsy in with their joined hands behind the small of Harry's back in a way that angles his body in the way of Eggsy's flailing other hand. He kisses Eggsy's cheek, then his mouth, and Eggsy takes Harry's jacket shoulder between his teeth as Harry takes his knob in hand again. 

“Incentive,” Harry says. “You have to give people what they want, Eggsy. _Nearly_. The co-ordinates?”

“You heartless bastard,” Eggsy says, panting. Pleasure is winding him up tight again already, somehow hotter and deeper and wilder than before, and he thrusts helplessly into Harry's hand, pulling Harry's head to his for a shattering kiss. He can see the peak and he breaks off to plead, “Yeah, fuck - please, Harry, come on -”

Harry stops and Eggsy can feel his cock all but throb in his tight useless grip. He moans and leans his forehead against Harry's. Harry’s eyes are glittering, amused and fond, no sign of the guilt he should be feeling for being so fucking mean and horrible. Eggsy whimpers and Harry's fingers squeeze on his reassuringly. 

“Tell me what I want to know,” Harry says. 

“Let me come,” Eggsy says despairingly, accepting he's at the mercy of Harry's clever hands and wretched competitiveness and determination to leave Eggsy wrung out and exhausted. “Please, Harry.”

“I want to,” Harry says lovingly and he starts to touch Eggsy again. Eggsy knows the catch full well by this time but he moves with Harry anyway, can't not, hanging on and just taking it as Harry's hand smooths and clutches knowingly over his poor cock. It almost hurts now, mixing with the pleasure licking sweet fire through his groin and up his spine, so intense he's dizzy, white noise in his ears. “Just tell me.”

Eggsy shakes his head and tips his head back to be kissed again as Harry presses him hard against the wall. He doesn't fucking care what Harry does, he needs it so much, he can feel it building to the most cracking climax and he doesn't think anything’s going to be able to stop it this time, he sucks on Harry's tongue and moans and -

Eggsy muffles a cry of disappointment and near-pain in Harry’s shoulder as he circles two fingers round the base of Eggsy’s cock with his other hand, a stifling makeshift cockring. It feels like he’s trapping pleasure in Eggsy’s dick, so much sensation and heat on the leaking head and jerking up the slick shaft but it can’t quite connect with the shattering waves of orgasm so close through Eggsy’s body, so _nearly_ there.

“Eggsy,” Harry murmurs, kisses him so deep and hard Eggsy swears he can taste that Harry’s longing almost as badly as he is. His hand is so fucking good wrapped warm and moving fast over Eggsy’s cock, Eggsy can feel his balls high and full and tight, he’s desperate, almost crying with it, he needs so much from Harry. “I want to make you come, I want to see your face when you do. Just tell me, Eggsy. Let me please you, all you need to do is tell me.”

Oh, _God_ , fuck. All he has to do is breathe those little numbers - he wants to come more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life - 

More than nearly anything.

“No,” he says, grits it even though it comes out trembling and broken, “No, I ain’t saying nothing - I can go all night like this -”

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Harry says and then both his fists are moving tight and Eggsy cries out and whites out and comes, his thighs tensing and shaking as the orgasm crashes through him, in Harry’s arms, Harry murmuring Eggsy through it sweet and generous until Eggsy’s drained and wrecked and resting against him. 

“Fuck,” Eggsy says. He tucks his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, enjoying the protective hold, and giggles a bit, feeling euphoric and dozy. “For some bloody useless co-ordinates.”

“It's not about the co-ordinates,” Harry says gently. He turns them both so he’s the one leaning against the wall and pulls Eggsy close. “It's about giving you a healthy sense of paranoia. Starting to evaluate your every encounter with strangers and friends for what they might want from you.”

Eggsy considers that for a minute. He puts his head on Harry's shoulder, enjoying having the right, and rests his hand on Harry's warm tummy. He’d never dared to let his fantasies extend to what Harry might be like after sex: turns out some of his edges are blurred away and it’s lovely, Eggsy feels soft and cared-for. 

The task, though. “Sounds loads of fun,” he says glumly. 

Harry sighs, his chest heaving under the weight of Eggsy's head. “Yes. No, it's not a nice lesson to learn. But it's an important one.”

Eggsy watches his fingers curl and uncurl on Harry’s skin, rubbing in the sticky smears of his come. “And what about you?” he says quietly.

“What about me, darling?”

He tilts his head back and looks Harry in the eye. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, not much,” Harry says: the tone is drawling but the way he’s looking at Eggsy is intent, caressing. “I thought, merely exclusive use of your body and the single-minded regard of your soul. If that’s all right with you, of course.”

Eggsy smiles and kisses him again, makes it lazy and for-keeps. “I think I’ll give you a passing mark for that.”


End file.
